Sunday, January 22, 2017

Childhood Narrative

I remember cruising down the twisty and windy roads of the Appalachian and Smokey Mountains when I was thirteen years old.  I was sitting comfily in the passenger seat of my mom’s coffee brown Blazer listening to the radio’s top hits and imagining what it would be like to hike the tall peaks of the mountains passing by the car windows.  The winds and turns that my mom was pioneering quickly made my eyes heavy and heavier…  Then my mom violently shook my shoulder and I woke up groggily from a sleep I didn’t know I fell into.  My mom was staring at her rearview mirror, panicked and confused she shouted “Alondra, grab the cat grab the cat grab the cat!” I whipped my head around to see our pet cat, Meechos, in position to poop on the lap of my sleeping little sister, who was sat promptly in the center of the backseat.  It was obviously too late when I realized that I should have grabbed the cat sooner.  I remember yanking off my cat, and looking at my mom, and the only words I could stammer was “The damage is done.”  A few short seconds later, my mom angrily pulled into a rest area that she luckily caught just as the events were unfolding.  We shouted at my little sister, “Fabiola, wake up!” And Fabiola’s big brown eyes burst open, quickly bouncing from left to right, taking in their surroundings and then eerily looking around to see what the big deal was.  Then I remember she looked down.  I vividly remember her gasping and then screaming, looking at my mom and saying “Mom! Meecho’s pooped in my hands!” I couldn’t help but laugh but my moms quick glare forced me to stifle my giggles and additionally hold my breath, as the smell in the car was unbearable.  We quickly pulled into the rest stop and I yanked my siblings out of the backseat of our blazer, grabbing Fabiola and quickly running her to the bathroom sinks to wash her up.  I remember my mom forcing us to stick all of our comfy cozy blankets that were effected into a black trash bag and throw them away, as we still had another 8 hours to our drive.  Fabiola was a mess, crying and embarrassed, her cheeks the color of red granny apples when they’re ripe.  Fabian, Jocely, and I were having the laugh of their lives while my mom was busy washing Fabiola’s hands and arms, trying to rid her of the putrid smell that somehow came from our cats body.  We piled back into the car, all five of us, when the mess was finally cleaned up.   The rest of our trip to South Carolina was spent with the windows down, trying to rid us of any sniff of the cat poop smell that still lingered. I remember looking at my mother and seeing the vivid presence of regret on her face for not letting the cat out sooner. Fabiola stayed in a sour mood the entire trip, mortified that our cat had pooped directly into her hands yet also trying to control her laughter at the comedy of the situation.  To this day at family gatherings, when we are all around each other cozy and happy, we laugh about this funny and awful memory; we remember in fits and giggles when my mom forced me to strip a fat cat in mid-poop from my little sister’s lap and how we had to throw away our favorite lap blankets because we didn’t our cat Meecho’s out enough during this long road trip. We learned our lesson.


No comments:

Post a Comment